


Perchance to Dream

by 23Murasaki



Series: Everyone Lives! [15]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Everything Happens in the Kitchen, Gen, Headcanons Everywhere, demoning is difficult, tangentially plot?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-11 07:34:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1170380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/23Murasaki/pseuds/23Murasaki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Faust pays another visit, and Sebastian's better nature gets the best of him. He didn't even know he <i>had</i> a better nature...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perchance to Dream

“... Sebastian.” There was a spider demon in the kitchen window again. Faust’s glasses were frosted over and slipping down his face. The demon sighed.  
  
“Faust. You do recall that you are not welcome here, correct?” Faust looked at him and tried halfheartedly to clean his glasses, managing to smudge them up even more.  
  
“It’s cold,” Faust declared unnecessarily. The demon fought the urge to roll his eyes.  
  
“It is December, after all,” he pointed out, and Faust looked, if possible, even more lost.  
  
“... Already?” he asked, then gave up on the glasses and pulled them off. His eyes were unfocussed. “Oh. It was still November a little while ago.”  
  
“That is how months work, yes,” said the demon. Faust didn’t move. He just sat there with his glasses in his hand and a look of absolute incomprehension on his face. “Do you need a calendar of some sort?”  
  
“... No,” replied Faust after taking too long to collect his thoughts. “I would lose it. Losing things is troublesome.”  
  
“Is that what you came here to tell me?” he asked. It was better than a physical fight, he supposed. “I am very busy with my contract right now.”  
  
“I know...” Faust looked away. “I want... I want to stay here a while. I will stay here a while.” He closed his eyes. The demon glared at him, to absolutely no avail. Failing to rid himself of the intruder that way, he pulled the window open instead, letting in a gust of cold air. It was alright. The kitchen had been stiflingly hot anyway. Two icicles fell in, and Faust wobbled precariously on his perch.  
  
“You are not welcome here,” the demon repeated, a few millimeters from Faust’s ear. “Do you understand?”  
  
“Yes,” mumbled Faust. Despite this, he remained still. “Are you going to fight me, Sebastian?”  
  
“No,” snapped the demon. “I’m trying to make a pot roast.” He really was. Faust opened his eyes and shifted around in a tangle of limbs to look him in the eye.  
  
“... That does not include roasting a pot, I assume?” he said carefully. The demon shook his head.  
  
“No, no, it’s beef.” He paused. “It is warm and filling, and humans like to eat that sort of thing in the winter,” he elaborated. Faust nodded.  
  
“I see. You eat warm things in wintertime.”  
  
“Are you still going to sit here?”  
  
“Yes. It is warm.”  
  
“I’m going to close the window again.”  
  
“... Alright.” He did. Faust did not move. It took the demon a full five minutes to give up, march back to the window, and open it again.  
  
“You will freeze if you just lurk there,” he grumbled. “Either leave or come inside and lurk where it’s warm.” Empathy. This was probably empathy. Agni talked a lot about it, like it was a thing of value rather than something that caused trouble for all involved. Faust obediently spilled in through the window and wound up on the floor in a pile of limbs and cloth. The demon frowned and physically lifted him into the nearest chair.  
  
“... It smells good,” Faust noted distractedly.  
  
“You can’t eat it,” the demon objected. “It isn’t yours. Besides, you are a demon as well. It would not taste good to you.”  
  
“... I wonder what it tastes like to humans.”  
  
“Savory.”  
  
“What does that mean?” He had no idea.  
  
“... Refrain from asking foolish questions.”  
  
“Is that an order?”  
  
“I am not your master, Faust.” Faust opened his mouth, then closed it again, thinking very intently about something. It seemed to escape him, because he leaned back in the chair and set his glasses back on his face.  
  
“... Can I sleep here?”  
  
“You do not need to sleep.”  
  
“I like it. I have dreams sometimes.”  
  
“Really, now? What do you dream about, food?”  
  
“Yes.” He had meant it as an insult, or maybe a joke. “Do you dream, Sebastian?”  
  
“Rarely.” The last time he had slept and dreamt, his mind had conjured up a house on a hill and a garden that reached as far as he could see. He had pushed open to door to greet the one who was waiting for him, but had woken up before it had opened fully. He did not want to tell Faust that story. He did not want to tell Faust any story. He wanted to not burn the pot roast and maybe shove Faust’s head in the oven for good measure.  
  
“...Good.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“... We still have something in common now.” The demon turned away from his cooking to glare, or argue, or do something, but Faust was asleep, his shaky breathing even and his face relaxed. Very young animals fell asleep like that, thought the demon, and the mental image of Faust with a bell around his neck and fluffy, pointed ears like a cat briefly crossed his mind. It was significantly more endearing than Faust actually was.  
  
Still, the demon caught himself smiling a little. He wasn’t entirely sure why.


End file.
